Grocery Store Violence

Both of these incidents happened in the same week about ten years ago.

I swear.

The first happened in the produce aisle of a Shop 'N Save. When I looked up from examining some lovely red grapes, I saw a woman grab a head of iceburg lettuce. This head was large, solid, and unwrapped. What happened next, I still see in slow motion. The woman stood up straight, squared her shoulders, raised her arm, and tossed the iceburg as hard as she could--at another woman's head. The second woman's head snapped back a bit, and she began to sob. To this day, I don't know if they knew each other, but there was something in my intuitive replay of the events that signaled they were strangers. Pandemonium broke loose in the aisle, and I hurried away with the bag of sweet grapes in my cart. I still think about those two women, and what really happened there. I couldn't make any sense of it then. Was the lettuce thrower mentally imbalanced? Did she have a grudge against the other woman? Was there a man involved? Or did she just snap under the pressure of traffic, checkout lines, snarling faces, and overdue bills?Over the past ten years, I've recounted this story to my writing students--those who complain, "there's nothing to write about." Open your eyes, I tell them. You might see something like I saw at the Shop 'N Save.

Later that week, I was back in the same store. (What can you do when you have four kids?) This time I stood fretting in the checkout line. I was late to drop off or pick up--or both. My line of vision took in the automatic doors. People streamed in and out, while I stood still (unless you call tapping my foot moving). A man in his thirties bounded in, grabbed a cart, and started off in a sprint toward the produce. In his hurry, he clipped a little girl--a pig-tailed toddler--who had strayed out a bit from her father's side as he paid at the register. The hit on her shoulder knocked her to the ground, and her high scream refocused her father's attention. His fists moved almost faster than his feet as he cold-cocked the cart racer. "Son-of-a-bitch," he growled. "Watch where you are going!"

I pocketed these two incidents, thinking they should be filed together under Shop 'N Save, but there was something more there, a nagging association of more importance than random grocery store violence.

Today, I stood in line at the Giant Eagle, and my cashier made the association for me. Not that she said a word to me. My cart contained a 30-pound bag of dog food, which I dragged onto the conveyor belt. Usually, my husband buys the dog food since he's worked much harder at maintaining his upper body strength than I have. And usually, he holds the heavy bag over the scanner for the cashier and then loads it into the cart. I figured getting it onto the belt was good enough. After all, if the store offers 30-pound bags of dog food, the management must expect the cashiers to finish the sale.

I was wrong. The cashier, an older woman, narrowed her eyes at me with what I innocently mistook as distress at her own inability to lift the bag. Instead, it appeared that she was disgusted with me for bringing something large to her register. "Can I help you scan it?" I asked.
"Can I turn it?"

"Can I help you?"

There was no verbal answer, but, oh my dear, she said plenty. She continued to glare at me while she ignored my questions. My face grew hot. As a customer, I had offended her with my lack of purchasing sensitivity. My instinct was to direct my discomfort back at her--"IS THERE A PROBLEM WITH MY PURCHASE?" But, instead, I swallowed hard and handed her a check.

This wasn't my first grocery-store offense, for which I merited the stare, the glare, or the big, heaving sigh. I've towed two overflowing carts (more than once) to the checkout counter, which seems to be immensely more effort for the cashier than checking out two back-to-back customers. My deli order has often exceeded more than two items--that must be sliced to order! I've also needed to pass by someone whose cart is parked sideways in the aisle. Worst of all, I've dared to say "hello" to someone whose eye I've caught. I fear I am not a politically correct grocery store patron.

So, ten years after the Shop 'N Save episodes, I think I understand. A lobbed head of iceburg, a cart accident, a man thrown to the floor all seemed to be random violence. I think now that it was a perculating undercurrent of anger and disassociation growing in our American society. Of course it would surface in a grocery store, a place where we all gather regularly to meet one of our most common basic needs, but where we really don't connect. As a people, we face each other with a steely set jaw, fencing each other with our carts. If we smile and say "excuse me" in an accidental near miss while looking for cereal, there is no smile in return. Do not expect to hear "excuse me," "thank you," or "you're welcome." Instead, expect lettuce leaves on the produce aisle floor.